Eyelash Wishes
by rawrchelle
Summary: Itachi/Sakura. Once upon a time, there was a prince, and a princess. Except, the prince was near insane, the princess was emotionally unstable, and happily ever afters didn’t exist with them.


**Title: **Eyelash Wishes  
**Pairing: **ItachiSakura  
**Genre(s): **Angst/Romance  
**Summary:** Once upon a time, there was a prince, and a princess. Except, the prince was near insane, the princess was emotionally unstable, and happily ever afters didn't exist with them.  
**Theme: **flying apples  
**Rating: **PG-14  
**Word Count: **2059  
**Warning:** Just small mentions of sex. Nothing too explicit for you guys, I hope. (In the end, we're all just horny readers, anyway.)

Written for xx. false - deception as a gift!fic, and, since she's my beta reader, it's pretty much unedited. XD She chose the pairing, fandom, theme, and genre. For being a great beta reader, and a great friend. (This will make up for the lack of your birthday present. ;)

Disclaimed.  
read&review.

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i. once upon a time,

The first time he sees her, he almost chuckles.

She's so comical. What kind of shinobi has pink hair, (bright, bright, _bright_) emerald eyes, and is clad in eye-catching red and black? Is she supposed to be a _joke_?

But, the determination in those bright eyes tells him otherwise.

When he locks gazes with her, he sees interesting things. Interesting, heart-wrenching things. He sees a reflection of himself, impassive and lethal. And, he also sees Sasuke—an older Sasuke, a stronger Sasuke—a victorious Sasuke.

He likes her, he decides.

Haruno Sakura. He will remember that name.

_ii. there was a prince,_

Two years come and go. The disease comes, but, fortunately, it does not go. Neither does his blindness.

She comes. She goes. But, she always returns.

They make an agreement. If she heals his eyes (but, of course, not his disease, because he's _supposed_ to be sick, and he will_ remain_ sick), he will delay the Kyuubi container's death, and he will bring his little brother back to her.

And, of course, if she _doesn't_ heal his eyes, he will kill her after stealing the lives of all those she holds dear.

How pretty, he muses as he closes his eyes, keeping every nerve alert. Very pretty.

He feels her fingers, soft and fleeting on his temples. He feels her chakra, gentle and manipulative. His lips are tempted to curve upwards into a smirk when he realizes how much she resembles his mother, when he doesn't have to look at her and see _pink_ instead of _brown_, and _green_ instead of _chestnut_.

Red. He associates red with her. Like an overripe apple, just waiting to be picked before it rots away.

So, he does her the favor, and picks her.

He misses his mother. He misses his father. He misses his home.

He misses Sasuke.

_iii. and a princess._

He kisses her, long and hard. He smirks against her mouth when she all but crumbles.

She bites his lip.

Ouch.

When he pulls away from her, he frowns, refraining from bringing a hand to his bleeding lip. He does not show inferiority in front of her. The taste of blood is not unfamiliar on his tongue, but he doesn't like it, nonetheless.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is low, venomous.

He cannot help but feel amused. "Are you angry because I took your first?"

"Sarcasm isn't appreciated, _Uchiha_."

_Indeed. Why did you do it?_ It's a good question. He hears a voice in his head, and he shoves it aside. It has been too loud as of late.

He did it because he is lonely. He did it because she is overripe and bittersweet—just the way he likes it. He did it because she is Haruno Sakura, and he is Uchiha Itachi—and, when together, they make all the right wrongs.

He ignores her, and kisses her again. She does not resist anymore.

Good girl.

_iv. except,_

He knows.

He knows that when she's with him, the sun is only just peeking out from behind the clouds. He knows that she's not happy.

But, he also knows that she'll never be happy. She can only be happy with Sasuke—_his_ Sasuke—but, because Sasuke will never return (the way that she does to him, over and over again), she settles for second best.

Which is him.

She knows that why he does it is simply because he _wants_ to—because he's Uchiha Itachi, and he's crazy, and he's no prince in shining armor—not even an antihero in aluminum foil—but, in reality, a poor man, and a lost soul, that wants nothing more than for it all to _end_.

He wants out. He wants comfort. He wants _something_ to tell him that erasing everything he's ever loved was okay. _Is_ okay.

Because everything he's ever done—

—has—

—been—

—_wrong_.

He's Uchiha Itachi, and she's Haruno Sakura, and they both just want to _get out of there_.

_v. the prince was near insane,_

"You are like a flying apple."

She snorts—very un-ladylike. "That's pleasant. And you're like a blundering turkey."

"I am anything but that." He frowns, but there are traces of mirth in his voice. Just with her. _Only_ with her. Only _for_ her.

She smiles. A sad smile, and he can't help but muse how that sad smile is like the texture of their story, that was written without the intention to have a happy ending. Without the intention to have a proper ending at all.

He matches her dampened tone with his eyes, and, inside, they both cry, although they'll never admit it to each other.

They're laughing, inside.

They're _shaking_, inside.

_They're breaking, inside._

His vision disappears from him for the smallest of moments, frightening and unexpected, and, he reaches out and grabs her hand in a tight grip.

She gives him some relief by squeezing his fingers gently.

_vi. the princess was emotionally unstable,_

He doesn't want her.

She doesn't want him.

They move together rhythmically, hearing nothing but each other's heavy breaths, pounding hearts, and muted—torn, pained, _desperate_—screams. Her nails dig into his shoulder blades, and his hands hold her hips firmly.

He knows, that, whenever they do this, her eyes close for completely different reasons. She imagines a face very similar to his own behind her eyelids, praying it's him, wishing it's him, _hoping_ it's him—but, knowing it's not him.

His body relaxes, and he thinks of home. Of his mother and her smile, and the way she used to help him study.

Of his father, and, how he always commended him for the good things he's done.

Of Sasuke, and, how, everything he's ever done, even as a young and naïve child, has been _right_.

She cries out, and she comes, and he comes with her, and they come _together_, and they slow, and he slides out of her, and it's almost peace, but _not really, never really_.

"I love you, Sasuke-kun," she murmurs, pressing her bare body closer to him. Her eyes are still closed, but he knows that if she opens them, now, he won't see the bright, sparkling green he has once seen—but a dull jade that has lost its initial luster.

He decides to make her content. For now.

"You as well."

Even if it hurts him a little inside, because, she'll never act the part of his family to make _him_ content.

_vii. and happily ever afters_

It's coming. Like a colossal storm cloud, it's making its way over, slowly, darkly, inevitably.

He tells her. He tells her that he's going to die, and that he's going to die by _his_ hands, and, that, if she really wants to see him one last time before all (all, all, _all_) hope is lost, she should stay and watch his little brother take his life.

Because, everyone loves his little brother. Everyone pities his little brother. Nobody loves, or pities Itachi.

She begins to cry, and he doesn't want to know why.

He looks up at the sky, and frowns at how little he sees. His vision has gotten better since she began healing his eyes, but it can never regain its previous brilliance. He can feel his sanity slipping away, and he wonders if he should make a grab at it.

Apples. He sees apples. He sees apples, and Sakura. Sakura and apples. Until they are one and the same.

He takes her hand in his, and, together, they stand in the rain.

_viii. didn't exist—_

"This is right," she says brokenly, tears slipping down her cheeks.

It isn't. It _isn't_ right; it's _anything_ but right—but, he nods, nevertheless.

"This is right."

They're walking towards Konoha. Side by side, forearms barely grazing. The sun is shining—like that Kyuubi boy, she must be thinking to herself—but, for them, it's raining. It always has been.

He wants to fly. He wants to grow wings, and fly away. Away, until he can't see anything anymore. Can't see the results of his wrongdoings anymore.

Turning his head, he looks down at her. And he breaks a little more inside—

—as if there's a part of him that's still intact—

—knowing that the one thing left that he has beside him doesn't belong to him, truly. Only because he _looks_ like the one she wants, _acts_ like the one she wants—

The only one she can get.

He realizes, perhaps a little too late, that he doesn't want to die. He wants to live on, desperately, miserably, living pathetically like he has once told his foolish little brother to do—

—_with her, with her, with her._

_ix. —never _fucking_ existed—_

They sit there, perhaps, for a little too long. When her hand reaches his, their fingers touch, for a little too long.

"Itachi." His name is breathed from her lips; shaky, unfamiliar—because she's supposed to be saying _Sasuke_, and not _Itachi_—and his every last nerve stands on end. She pulls her hand away, and he can just _feel_ her bottom lip quivering. "I—thank you."

Thank him for what? Thank him for stealing her first? First kiss, first time, first man—first _everything_ that has been meant for his little brother?

"You are welcome."

Because he lives to steal things that belong to his brother. His dear little brother. His dear Sasuke.

He doesn't worry. He will see him soon.

And then, he will have his life stolen from him. Because he deserves it. Because he needs something taken from him, even if he doesn't want it to—even if he wants to spend the rest of his miserable life with her (her, her, _her_).

"When will it be?" She almost sounds remorseful, he muses. Or, it might just be his insanity kicking in.

"Soon."

He kisses her, and his lips linger on hers for a little too long.

He wishes that she will press herself against him, and never let go. Even if it's over the time limit, and Sasuke is waiting for him.

But, she pulls away, and, he sees that she wants to do _just that_, and _never_ break contact, but, duty calls (always coming, always going, always returning)—but it makes him happy, anyway, to know that maybe, maybe, _maybe_, she cares about him, too—

—even if it is just a little.

_x. with them._

She's crying.

It's raining, just like he has always imagined it to be. A fitting scene for the Uchiha brothers. The sky isn't crying for him, though—it's crying for Sasuke, and everything he has to go through. The pain, the hate, and everything his irresponsible older brother has shoved on him—

But that doesn't matter anymore. He is going to die. Sasuke is going to live.

The only thing that's missing, now, is the smiling face that will greet his younger brother when he goes home.

But she's not smiling. She's _crying_, dammit, along with the sky, and Sasuke isn't _doing_ anything about it. Her pink hair is so painfully obvious in the dark background, and, although her eyes are still dull, they are still much brighter than he has ever seen them.

He wonders why she doesn't approach Sasuke—but, him, instead—and kneels down beside him.

"This is right," he says, echoing her words from not too long ago. Because, finally (finally, finally, _finally_), things _are_ right.

She shakes her head roughly. "Things aren't right if _you_ aren't here!"

The rain is cold. He's practically blind, now, but he can still see those tears mingling with the rain.

_Stop crying, stop crying, stop crying—_

It hurts everywhere. His body aches, one of his arm is broken, his eyes are _bleeding_, goddamn—"Take Sasuke home. He belongs there." In that wretched village with the girl he doesn't deserve.

"B-But—"

"Please."

And his heart hurts the most; beating slower and slower; the timer of his life. He goes through everything he's ever done, and the desperation builds, because, he doesn't _want_ to die—not when she lives on—because he wants the time and the chances to fix everything.

Because, everything that he's done, every _damn_ thing he's done, that's all wrong—she can—

—make—

—it—

—_right_.

He closes his eyes.

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_just fly away, my little apple; i'll watch you from above._

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**A/N: **This style is a little different, compared to what I usually write, and, perhaps, that's not the best when writing a gift!fic. I'm not sure—maybe it's bad. But, it's emotion-filled, and that's what I like. I was absolutely charged when I was typing this up, hahaha. It's the only way to write. ;)

Let's admit it, we're all review whores.


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